It's A Marshmallow World: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  I wave my hand at the situation. “Yeah, I always have been. Admitting I was used sucks though.”

  Her hand lands firmly on my knee. “Trust me darling, someday it is going to work out. Not all men are jerks, although sometimes it sure seems that way. You just keep being who you are. The right man will respect that more than you can imagine. Are you sure you are okay?”

  I grumble. “Yeah, the only thing bruised is my ego. I hate when people play mind games.”

  “Me too, and I am glad you are smart enough not to get trapped into one. Okay, you are forgiven for not calling. Here.” The box she places on my lap reminds me of a board game. Boy, wouldn’t it be funny timing if she gave me a copy of the game of Life? Everything she does has meaning of some sort. Right now, that would be a hell of a metaphor.

  “Thank you.” I kiss her cheek and start opening the gift. She stops me.

  “Darla, you know that I never play favorites with you and Bailey. You are both unique individuals and deserve to be treated as such.” GranGran softens her voice. Her words seem to massage their way into me. “Although I know you will figure this out on your own, the gifts you and Bailey are getting are not only different in nature, but also in monetary value. However, the emotional value is just as great. I hope you will see that this says more about you as a person, and what you will need in the future, than anything else. Do you understand that?”

  Wow. She has never thought I would be concerned over money before. Cosmetology school is just the tip of the iceberg for Bailey. She has big dreams. GranGran must be doing something to help her. I think that is great. I wish I had career direction like Bailey does. “Of course I do. You are the one who taught me that things are just things unless sentiment makes them special.”

  She pats my hand and nods toward the gift. “Go on. Open it.”

  I rip away the sparkling images of snowmen while keeping my eyes locked on the box underneath. Quickly the contents become clear. It is a board game all right—or though some claim. “A Ouija board! Wow! Really?”

  GranGran laughs.

  The plastic has already been removed. Maybe the box is a joke. I kind of hope not. I’ve always wanted one of these.

  I whip the lid off as if it were light as air. Just as swiftly, a wave of energy tumbles over me and clogs my thoughts. I shake my head, but I still feel kind of hazy. Am I imagining this?

  I put one hand on the bed to steady myself, and eventually the fog lifts. Something definitely washed over me.

  Inside the box is not only a Ouija board and planchette, but also another present wrapped in blue, metallic paper. A sticker of a daisy sits in place of a bow. When I reach for the second gift, the sensation hits again.

  Did that energy come off of the board or the second gift? The board feels like it is glowing, yet I can’t see the light.

  Another odd vibration creeps its way into me. It is a sense of protection, like a tiger has just run out to save me from a lion. It captures a bit of my breath. There is more here than meets the eye.

  With the touch of her hand, GranGran stops me from opening the package inside. “Save that gift for another day. Remember, this board is not a toy. You’ll know when the time is right to explore its power.” Now the glow I feel is coming off of her. It seeps into my spirit, yet I still can’t take my eyes off of the second gift. Her next words hit my soul so hard, I’m uncertain if they come from her lips or are said by a voice from beyond. “You are a very special girl, Darla. No matter what you do or where you go, carry me with you.” She looks away and swallows hard. Her tone and volume shift. “Well, it is getting late. These eyes don’t like me driving in the dark.”

  “GranGran, did you do something to this? It feels … magical.”

  I turn to her, expecting to see the woman I’ve admired for so long, but something isn’t right. Though a smile is still on her face, the happiness that shines ever-presently has faded. The crackle in her voice makes me feel she wants me to hear the words she is not saying more than the ones she is. “Darling Darla, everything we share is magical.” Water builds in her eyes, and her lower lip slightly quivers. Loss is coming. I’ve been feeling it, and now I am seeing it. God, I have to be wrong. “GranGran, are you okay?”

  Like a snap, she perks up. “Come on. See me to the door.”

  “GranGran?”

  Her rise from the bed is slow yet steady, thanks to the assistance of her cane. I stand to help her, but she waves me off. “I’m fine, dear. Arthritis ain’t got nothing on me.”

  I touch her arm to stop her. “GranGran?” She keeps trudging ahead like she doesn’t hear me. My heart breaks not only over what is happening, but also how she won’t let us face it together.

  Finally she stops and turns to me. Though her voice is now steady, her eyes weep. “Never, ever, let the circumstances of your body dictate the health of your spirit.” She continues to move on. Just outside my door, she calls to the family that it is getting dark and she needs to go.

  By the time we all see her to the porch, she seems normal as can be. When she kisses me goodbye, she leans in and whispers, “I told your sister to forget about her gift until it is absolutely needed. Bailey will need to lose her way to come home again. Be there for her when that happens. Meanwhile, remember all the things I have given you, and never hesitate to use them. Above all, always follow the daisies.”

  Follow the daisies?

  Before I can ask, she touches a finger to my lips, encouraging my silence. Although I watch Dad walk her to the car, I feel as if she has slipped away into nothing.

  “What did you get?” Bailey asks. Her voice sounds as solemn as my heart feels.

  “Moments that will last a lifetime. You?”

  “The same, plus a modest savings bond. GranGran has never given me money before. Why would she now?”

  My spine shudders, causing me to draw in the winter air that chills my lungs. Bailey and I turn to each other and find we share the same wide-eyed looks of concern. We bolt out the door, down the driveway, and stop GranGran from entering the car for one more hug. “I love you, GranGran.”

  “And I you, dear. Remember, follow those daisies.”

  She drives off into the sun that sets before her. My heart continues to ache, yet I can’t lose sight of her smile, her laugh, and the warmth she brings. Although I know there is something I am missing in its meaning, one thing is certain; between Bailey and I, I got the better gift.

  January 8, 2001

  I gasp, completely flabbergasted by my reflection. “Oh my …

  “Oh my God.

  “This is perfect! Absolutely perfect!”

  Like a magician waving a wand, Bailey has turned a mirror in front of me. After a week of experiments that have left me unsatisfied, I can’t believe what I see is real. I look so cool yet so elegant. If I saw me on the street, I would not know if I was going to a swanky, fifties cocktail party or if I am headed for a club. This makeup is so colorful, yet it’s not all that bright. It is nothing like I would’ve done, but I absolutely love it! “How did you come up with this idea?” I ask Bailey.

  “I finally caught on to the obvious. Dad would freak if I did too much, so I pulled an Elizabeth Taylor. You two have a similar complexion and softness to your features. She never looked overdone, even though her eyelids were heavy and her lips were bright red. The big difference is that I worked off of your green eyes with the shadowing. The base has Forest with a hint of bright green in the corners to make them pop. I also went for a brighter, pink lipstick than most women would wear.”

  She hands me a tube of lip gloss. The glitter in it makes me swoon. “Knowing you,” she continues, “it was hard not to add this, but that would have been a little much. Save it for later. If people give you a bad time, I am sure you will want to fuel the fire. This would really give them something to talk about.”

  I laugh, partially because she is right and partially because I’m so darn thrilled. “You know me too well. Seriously though, do you think I
look overdone for school?”

  “I don’t believe for a second that you would care. However, you are a little borderline for getting past Dad. You might want to slip out before he sees you. Then again, if you wait until the last minute to leave, I doubt that it is heavy enough for him to make you late by forcing you to wash it off.”

  God, it is so perfect, yet I can’t help but want more. “Didn’t Elizabeth Taylor have a beauty mark? What if we put one right—”

  “You’re done.” The thunk of the eyeliner pencil Bailey drops into my makeup case drives home her point. “Don’t mess with my masterpiece. Besides, I need to get out of here. I’ve got a new class starting today.”

  I can’t stop looking in the mirror. I look fun, wild, and—Oh my God, I look freaking glamorous! I can’t imagine people giving me a bad time like Bailey thinks they might. Then again, wearing neon green tights with a yellow skirt made them go crazy. What gives others the right to be judgmental over my wardrobe?

  I just don’t feel done though. This little splash of color is pretty, but it is too sedate for who I feel I am.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Bailey warns.

  “What? I haven’t said or done a thing other than look in the mirror.”

  She wags a finger at me. “I know you. That beauty mark comment was the tip of the iceberg. We’re on the verge of getting us both in trouble now. Give it a couple weeks before we push the envelope, okay?”

  Reluctantly I agree. “It’s a deal.” I hate it when she is right.

  I head out, on time, with an excited kiss of approval from Mom and a hesitant compliment from Dad; yet when I put my hand on the doorknob, I am reluctant to leave. There is something missing. Something key that I need to do …

  Like a bolt, I race to the bathroom and pound on the door. When Bailey answers, I drag her out. “Come on, you need to drive me.”

  “What? You aren’t late, and I have to go to—”

  “GranGran needs to see this.”

  She tries to blow me off. “We can go after school.”

  “No. You won’t be home until late. Let’s go!” Still, she doesn’t budge. Her face reeks of me being an annoying little sister. I give one last, grand plea. “Come on! She is going to be so proud of us. I really want her to see this while it is fresh. Remember how when you wanted to go to beauty school, she was the one who stood up for you? Don’t you think she deserves to—”

  Bailey throws her head back. “Fine! I’ll meet you in the car.”

  Ten minutes later we are pulling into GranGran’s driveway. I sprint up the walkway while on my cell phone with her. “Okay, open the door … now.”

  The door flies open like the woman is a teenager who is eager to see a friend. She drags me inside to get a good look. I chuckle at her yoga attire. I must have caught her on her way out. That’s a huge relief. She has really had me worried.

  She clasps her hands together. “Gorgeous! It is absolutely gorgeous! Tell Bailey I have the utmost faith in her abilities. Now, both of you go get to school on time and knock them dead!”

  We are just out of the driveway and Bailey has hit the accelerator when GranGran dashes out as fast as needing a cane will let her. I roll down my window in haste, but we are already too far away. Mid way across the lawn, she stops and blows us a kiss.

  “I am so proud of you. Never let anyone quell your spirit or silence your voice. I love you and Bailey with all my _”

  That was the text GranGran was typing to me when she died. Based on what the paramedics found, I put together that when she got back inside she typed part of it, called them, then kept typing until God took her. That’s how much she loved me.

  She knew her body was failing. She should have sat down. She could have picked up a picture of her children and held it to her heart, but no, she chose to encourage the growth of my spirit.

  For hours I have tried to take my eyes off of this message, but every time I look away a knife seems to jab its way into my heart. As long as I have this message, she can’t really be gone, can she? Then again, maybe if I can just bring myself to focus on something else, I will wake from this nightmare.

  A tuft of hair falls into my face. Rox tucks it behind my ear and forces a smile. When I got the news at lunch, she and Jacqueline raced me home. It is nearly midnight and we’ve been sitting on my bed and crying ever since. “GranGran was a true wonder,” Rox says. “Remember when she taught me how dresses are structured so I could alter my thrift store finds? Until then, my wardrobe looked like I dragged it out of a bin for homeless people. Outcasts like us would be lost without free-spirits like her.”

  Rox looks so different with all of her crazy eyeliner cried off—like a little girl lost. It could not be more obvious that her love of hippie and mod fashions is seeded deep in her soul. Her passion for what she calls The Golden Age of Music runs so deep that her father gave her the nickname of Rox, a homonym for rock and roll. The name could not be more perfect.

  Seeing Rox looking so out of her element drives home that GranGran was right. I do need to be true to myself—like really true. I won’t live a lie any longer. I won’t let GranGran down, and I certainly will not go to her funeral looking like someone other than who I know I really am.

  I pop up from my bed like a shot from a cannon. If Bailey won’t help me, or if anyone protests, I’ll go to a salon first thing tomorrow and let a stranger do it.

  Bailey sits in her room, staring at the wall. I turn GranGran’s phone to face her. The message shows loud and clear, even through our tears. “You got any bleach?” I ask. “I’m not letting anyone stop me.”

  Bailey nods and heads for her supplies.

  I promise you, GranGran, no one will ever quell my spirit. In fact, it is time for it to soar.

  Christmas Wrapping

  The Present

  No matter what paths I choose to take, destiny dictates that on Friday nights there are no forks in the road, only the way to Mulligan’s. I’d like to say the events that originally led my friends and I here, all those years ago, were pretty normal but … Well, nothing in my life has ever been what most consider normal.

  The day we first walked through that dive bar door had already been epic. Rox and I work for Endeara Candies, the company that makes the inedible stuff you find in the dark recesses of drug stores. Since I spend my time in the reception area, right between the elevator to the offices and the door to manufacturing, I often find myself smack in the middle of ridiculous situations.

  On that day that led us here, the head of sales was sweating bullets while awaiting targets for what would be the sales pitch of the decade. Suddenly, shrieks came from the warehouse. The door flew open, and the crew emerged, covered in glops of red. Our hearts darn near stopped, but our panic slipped into confusion when the crew started laughing. A jellybean tumbler had malfunctioned, and engrossing syrup made everyone in splashing distance look like Slasher film victims. Not only was the goo tracked all over my lobby, but also when one of the workers slipped, his smacking butt splattered the liquid onto the pants of the head of sales. The guy flipped out—screaming like a banshee while doing zip to rectify the situation.

  Just outside the door, people in designer suits were getting out of cars that might as well have had gold-plated dollar signs for hood ornaments. I paged the janitor, but also took no chances. After two decades of friendship, all it took to get Rox dashing to my aid was a call with me whimpering, “Red dye. Help, please.”

  The sales guy managed to stall the guests while Rox and I used every napkin and towel we could get our hands on to clean the mess. In true Endeara style, the janitor had gone missing. Rox and I got roped into helping in the warehouse as well. When all was said and done, we were so covered in crusting sugar that we looked like rejects from the Peeps factory.

  Jacqueline’s day had not been much better. She’s a marketing person for Sporting News Today. She also has features that would make a director crazy not to cast her as Wonder Woman. Sometimes a single glance f
rom Jacqueline can put a guy on the verge of selling his soul for a chance to be with her. However, all that beauty also results in none of the men at work taking her seriously. That day she had dealt with more than her fair share of sexist idiots.

  We were barely able to function enough to pick a restaurant, let alone order food. Afterwards, going to bed sounded like riding a cloud to Heaven, but the need to blow off steam seemed just as great. However, the last thing any of us wanted was to go to a club filled with bad music and men with cheesy pick up lines. Once we had finished gorging on Chinese food and the fortune cookies had arrived, we didn’t have long to come up with an alternative to watching bad movies and pigging out on ice cream.

  Jacqueline groaned when I handed her a cookie. “Great,” she said, “with the day I’ve had, this will likely be one more thing telling me something I already know, like ‘Confucius say: Men can’t deal with women in their domain.’ Seriously, my determination to break down barriers seems futile.”

  All through dinner, Rox had barely been able to keep her eyes open. But somewhere between taking her last bite of rice and us getting the check, her glow of life came back. She had become so perky that just handing me my cookie made her DayGlo bangle bracelets clank a tune all their own. “We are no longer griping,” she said. “I have absolute faith that our luck is about to flip on its head.”

  Her new-found enthusiasm breathed life into me. I ripped open the wrapper, cracked the cookie, and yanked out the fortune. “ ‘All you need is right in front of you.’ ” Okay, so it wasn’t exciting, but it was right. The world could come crashing down, but as long as I had my friends, all was good.

  I toyed with my cookie’s wrapper while Rox ripped into hers. Despite the return of my ambition, fatigue was causing my vision to blur. Somehow though, the print was as obvious as my multi-colored mane—Daisy Fortune Cookie Company, San Francisco, California.